


Who Killed the Lark?

by truc



Series: Parallel [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: But are they truly villains?, Cautionary Tale, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dark Tim Drake, Deaths, Gen, Revenge, Student overcoming teachers, They're all wrong, They're not heroes, alternative universe, fighting the Court of Owls, or something like it, talon dick grayson, written as if it's a fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: In this universe, Bruce Wayne is a bored man who's not afraid to kill. In this universe, Dick Grayson is a rebellious Talon. Together, they try to take down the Court of Owls piece by piece.What will be the price of success?
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake
Series: Parallel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630174
Kudos: 44





	Who Killed the Lark?

Once upon a time, a boy went on a quest, the quest every boy in every tale ever tried to fulfill: this boy set out to find himself and his true meaning in life.

The boy travelled far and wide and sought the most illustrious teachers. In doing so, he learned many valuable things. In each of their distinctive ways, his teachers were wells of wisdom. One by one, he sponged their knowledge, but dismiss their advice; nobody but he knew the path to greater self-awareness. After each teacher outgrew their usefulness, the boy arranged their untimely end. One by one, they fell.

And the boy grew bored.

None of his teachers had truly grasped the vastness of his greatness; none of his teachers had helped him ascertain his mission. The boy walked across the Earth, acting as he saw fit, cold in his actions, selfless in his rewards.

He walked until his soles were light and; his feet calloused. He walked until nobody could mistake him for a boy any longer.

His heart grew ever so lonely. He craved his parents' tomb. On, he walked back home, where the sun never shined; on, he walked until he saw the city who never weeps.

Under a shagbark hickory, he fell asleep.

Later, a stranger in dark clothes and a googly mask attacked someone near the sleeping man. Blood rained upon the sleeping man, waking him from his dreamless sleep.

The darkly dressed stranger, with nary a moment rest, turned his claws against the man who had travelled far and wide. Quick as a striking cobra, the well-travelled man blocked the attack with knives and returned the favour. Round and round, they turned, striking and parrying as if professionally choreographed. For two nights and two days, they fought.

As the last night waned, the well-travelled man took the advantage and held his adversary at the end of his weapon. Amusement pierced in his eyes as he looked at his defeated foe, a wry smile on his face. "So young and so feisty. Maybe we can yet find a better use of our time."

The well-travelled man learned of the masked man's name: Talon. He worked for a dreadful organization called the Court of Owls, which he quite disliked. Aristocrats from all over the world used this secret organization to maintain covert control of the world's evolution, stiffening rivals upon their servants' claws. Talon was a coerced servant with no way out from their hold.

"Fear not," the well-travelled man assured him, "together, we can bring them down." And he was happy for he now had a new challenge to overcome; ended were the days of perpetual boredom.

Talon and the well-travelled man decided the former would act as a spy; together, they'd plan the fall of an empire.

Days went by; weeks went by and; months went by. Slowly, the well-travelled man had set up a domino set of plans on how to eradicate the owl infestation.

Slowly, he noticed Talon was a tiny candle-light that shed light upon the well-travelled man's silhouette, thus obliquely reflecting his purpose.

Slowly, they became a duo.

Together, they plotted and ruined some important Court of Owls' assets.

They reached out to the Court's enemies; they leaked important information; they mapped the Court's informants' system and resources and; they oversaw the creation of their much-needed tools.

Along the way, the well-travelled man noticed the Talon's outlook had changed; no longer was the quest a clinical task to undertake; instead-contrarily to the assassin code-, he had become emotionally invested in its continued success. Furthermore, for him, the fight had morphed to become a righteous battle on principles.

Rationally, the well-travelled man knew he should cut contact with his fellow conspirator before the other inevitably fumbles. However, he rationalized time and again that Talon's usefulness had yet to expire.

Inexorably, they took out communities of Court of Owls, snuffing their lives without revealing Talon's treason and the well-travelled man's identity. Paranoia grew in their enemies' eyes, desperateness in their moves and incoordination in their actions.

Then, Talon's emotions guided him to damnation.

Truthfully, as much as the well-travelled man had predicted Talon's increasing unsteadiness, he hadn't thought Talon would blow his cover over the fate of a young assigned victim.

Talon should have known better than to look at the immediate victims. He should have seen that destroying the Court of Owls accomplished more for the victims than a dull-witted principle stand.

Talon should have known better than to fight off a dozen of his colleagues over a child's fate.

Logically, the well-travelled man should have cut his losses and forgotten his co-conspirator.

Instead, he fought against Talon's ruthless colleagues. Instead, he wanted to keep the light going.

It was all in vain.

Mortally struck, Talon died in the man's arms; the child laid lifeless upon the now red-streaked grey staircase.

The well-travelled killed the last colleagues and burned his co-conspirator's body. He travelled to the Talon's parents' grave and dispersed the ash over them- as he was sure Talon wanted.

A chill grew over his spirit. He guarded his heart under the black clothes he now donned in mourning.

With renewed vigour, he set out to exterminate the Court of Owls.

Unbeknown to him, he and Talon had acquired a fan, one with great technological prowesses. The fan, a meddlesome and odd child, had connected the dots of Talon and the well-travelled man. He knew not how to temper his excitement: he knew not how to value his orderly life.

Against all prudent cautionary tales' lessons, he struck a match, played with fire and got burned. Meaning, he attempted communication with the stoic and solitary man. But there was no place in that man's heart for laughter or innocence; the man had grown as hard and still as a monstrous gargoyle. And, so, the man solemnly rejected the child's offer: he persuaded him, a knife to his throat, to leave his proximity.

With his requests denied, the fan unwisely turned to gasoline. If the fire's bright enough, the man with the hardened heart will come to him, he reasoned. Hence, he built a pyre of martyred information about the Court of Owls. Consequently, by publishing it online, he drizzled gasoline all over his fire. It flashed bigger and stronger than he had thought; the Court of Owls sent assassins. The fire engulfed his parents and almost charred him too.

The man with the hardened heart killed the Court of Owls' assassins; he admitted he'd used the kid and his parents as bait to overcome his hurdle. "Exert advantage of others' mistakes," the hardened-hearted man advised him.

"You have your uses," the man told him as he offered the boy his hand but not his heart. "I can teach you many a useful trick."

The fan cooled off his admiration. Instead, the black tears falling upon his cheeks set him on the trail of destruction at the hardened-hearted man's side.

Together, they conspired the fall of the Court of Owls' empire, growing ever more audacious and successful in their method of carnage. The hardened-hearted man admired his mentee's ruthlessness; this one would not fall as his partner once had.

With cleverness as swords, they decimated the remaining order of lost souls, one precise soul at a time.

After months- years, even- of efforts and dedicated sacrifice, they stood upon the ruins of its rotten core, graced with the sense of a lovely breeze. They'd conquered their prominent foe; defeated the slippery dragon.

And it was time for the boy to reveal his mettle. As the sun stopped touching their conquered land, the boy struck his mentor with his poisoned blade. Unfortunately for him, his mentor had omitted to mention his inoculation to that particular brand of poison.

The boy barely dodged the hardened-hearted man's retaliatory attack. Blood dripped from the new scratch upon his brow.

Licking his spilled blood, the boy promised he'd put an end to his mentor's life: "I'll have you lose the equivalent amount of blood as my parents lost. For their blood is on your hands."

He faded into the night, the faint whisper of his oath still soaring upon the darkening land of their prior common ground.

Afterwards, they carefully calculated each of their blows, each knowing the slightest error would prove fatal against such an opponent.

In the dark, they schemed each other's death; in the light, they prepared their twenty next moves. Lurking and striking, they travelled and hid and hunted with absolute dedication to their cause.

Finally, the boy died, a blade through his back, his promise unfulfilled.

And, lurking above his corpse, a man- barely one- observed with swelling disappointment the end of his trial. For, at that moment, the hardened-heartened man realized he had failed where all his teachers had succeeded; he hadn't been able to create a student who could kill him.

He had been so sure this boy had the potential, for he was as cold and cerebral as the hardened-heartened man.

Despite the disappointment and the sorrow at seeing his two biggest contests end, the man burned the boy's body and spread the ashes, as he had done with Talon, upon the boy's parents' tomb.

The man had, as all boys sent on quests inevitably do, figured out his purpose; he had to find and overcome the most exacting challenges; that was his true nature.

Except for that, everything was ashes to ashes; everything was useless, especially the failable heart.

Onwards, went the shadow; onwards, he searched for new challenges to surmount. Onwards, he went to be unbored.

**Author's Note:**

> This story (with a lot less exaggerations and details) was supposed to be note in the second part of this series. Somehow, I thought it would be a nice project to write it down like a fairy tale quest. That's really all there is to it. 
> 
> Comments are welcome.


End file.
